


a warrior's fetch quest

by tiredzaya



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Cooking, F/F, Fae & Fairies, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Other, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Pining, Post-Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers, Unrequited Crush, aka lyhe mheg, one visit to Amaurot, soft epilogues...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:33:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22666327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiredzaya/pseuds/tiredzaya
Summary: requirements: level 80 Disciple of War/Magic, Warrior of Light status, must have completed MSQ ‘Shadowbringers’ and sidequest ‘As the Heart Bids’every fairy tale hero deserves a fairy tale ending, even if only for this chapter.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light, Jacke Swallow/Warrior of Light, Warrior of Light/Thancred Waters
Kudos: 8





	a warrior's fetch quest

**Author's Note:**

> a response to @gatheredfates on tumblr! the question asked was: Using the phrase "I think we deserve a soft epilogue, my love. We are good people and we've suffered enough", write a drabble or describe a 'soft' epilogue for your character.
> 
> notes: thancred/wol, jacke/wol (different wol lol), post SHB but b4 the release of 5.2 so lets see if any of my shenanigans gets denied. obviously, SHB spoilers, esp. for the last cutscene of MSQ Shadowbringers! V. is set after ‘a little bit lost without you.’!

**I.**

It’s over.

No more Light corruption or enraged Ascians are left for them to face; no more hurdles to jump to make it to the end. Well, swimming back to the surface sounds like one, but that's easily defeated by Feo Ul's magicks… if they would be so kind as to do such a thing after all they’ve done.Tehra’ir falls to his knees, dropping his daggers onto the purple, crystalline floor as they watch Hades’ fade away together. Zaya tries to step over to his side, but the world tilts instead.

Nhaama’s sweet embrace, falling to the floor asleep sounds insanely wonderful right about now. Their legs feel like weak saplings holding up a tonze of metal as they stagger; perhaps the limit break chained with throwing the Axe of Light wasn’t such a good idea...

Before they can fall flat on their face, however, Thancred steps in to catch them like some fairy tale prince—one covered in dirt and blood and what could potentially be seaweed in his boots, judging by the squelching sound his footsteps make as he repositions himself as to not fall to the ground with them.

“Rest,” Thancred mumbles as the rest of the Scions scamper over to meet Syhrwyda and Lumelle before they too fall to the ground. “Twelve knows you deserve it.”

And Zaya, not one to ignore a request and never one to resist loudly, shuts their eyes and dreams of nothing at all.

**II.**

Waking up is even more horrendous than when they were still filled to the top with Light aether, eyes burning and mouth dry as the sunlight sears their face. Zaya lurches forward in a dizzying motion only to smash their head against something decidedly not inanimate.

“By the twelve!?” Alphinaud shrieks as he tumbles off the bed, his moonstone carbuncle shaking with silent laughter. Alisaie and Ryne sigh in sync as they return to their Triple Triad game with—are those Zaya’s Triple Triad cards all over the floor?

"At least they are awake, Alphinaud." Y'shtola calls from behind a partition, the whistle of a tea kettle in the background. Ryne laughs behind her hand of cards, and Zaya briefly sees the ‘Heavensward Thancred’ card that Tataru started to make with his more grizzled look at the end of her hand. Briefly wondering how Thancred will react to Ryne having  _ that _ knowledge, Zaya turns to the ground, where Alphinaud is rubbing his forehead.

_ “No world ending dill—dilema—problems. Problems. Right?”  _ Zaya fatfingers the signs that were once so familiar to them as Alphinaud rises back to his feet, carbuncle sitting on his head.

“As of now,” Alphinaud starts weakly, but opens his eyes to give a beaming smile that reminds Zaya of the warm sunshine of Costa del Sol’s sunniest days. “Nothing to report. All of Norvrandt is recovering, although the Crystarium has been preparing a celebration for when our wayward Warriors wake.”

He gestures to the beds beside them, pulling back a curtain to reveal all seven missing warriors piled into one king-sized bed, bandages and casts be damned. They’re all snoring softly, Elwin carefully positioned at the top so as not to be crushed under the rest. Urianger sits besides them, idly twirling his astrolabe as he turns to meet Zaya’s eyes.

“Thou art awake, Zaya.” Urianger has a smile lining his voice, no matter how strained, and Zaya—something inside them gives a gentle yet somewhat exasperated sigh.

_ “Of course I am, Urianger,”  _ They sign messily, sitting up and wobbling their way over to an empty seat besides him.  _ “Now, would you mind reading me a story?” _

Urianger nods his head softly, and Y’shtola comes over with a tome labeled with a peculiar title.

“I think this should suffice for a storytime, although there are more if you so wish.” She places the book in Zaya’s hands and a mug of hot chocolate on the side table before retreating to grab her tea kettle before it boils over.

“Urianger!” Syhrwyda calls from behind another curtain, separating the kitchen from the beds. “Is it the one with the massive sea dragon?”

“Thine memory is great, but this tome,” Urianger gently lifts the cover to show the title page. “Art a tale of forgotten heroes.”

Zaya looks down, expecting to see nothing they could ever possibly read, but the handwriting is all too familiar from days they swore to forget if only to spare Taban from Mama’s wrath. Her handwriting lines the page in delicate, blue ink; the title and summary line written in Xaelan, made only moons before they’d seen their tenth Naadam.

_ And The World Keeps Spinning _

_ A memoir of our lost Warriors of Light and the tales they made. _

_ — _

_ Taban Qestir _

_ Songs written by Jehantel, Guydelot, Sanson, and countless other bards of Eorzea _

_ Every hero deserves a soft epilogue. Sometimes fate deigns otherwise. _

**III.**

Zaya is delegated to errand runner between the Source and the First as they recover, as ordered by all three of the Scion healers and pleaded by Ryne, who Zaya has absolutely zero strength to resist against.

One of these errands just so happens to be delivering letters, and it just so happens the only letter today is from Tehra’ir, addressed to one Jacke Swallow.

_ “Is today the day?”  _ Zaya prods as their rogue friend attempts to walk back to the Wandering Stairs, hand on his shoulder.  _ “You two have been flirting since Baelsar’s Wall!” _

“Fine! It is,” Tehra’ir flushes bright red, his tail puffing up in exasperation and embarassment. “Jus’... Will he understand? Me secret ain’t one freely shared, an’ I’ve never told any o’ me guildmates… I still want t’ go home t’ them, ye know?”

Zaya gives him a  _ look _ that attempts to scold him for thinking such a way, but it might have translated as ‘they won’t understand’, which only makes his face sink more. Mentally, they slap themselves for not just signing their thoughts, but the letter in their hand makes it hard…

The letter goes in their new sash as they sign,  _ “I am certain they will not think less of you for who you were, and who you chose to be. They have known you since you were little, right? Such bonds are not so easily broken, and I will personally go to teach them otherwise if they think you…” _

They lack the words to finish that sentence, but with such a delicate topic, they’d rather miss a word than offend. Thankfully, Tehra’ir seems to understand well enough, and presses a rough hand over theirs.

“Yer a bene friend, alright? Don’ let anyone tell ye otherwise.” Tehra’ir plasters a wobbly, unsure smile onto his face just for extra effect, and Zaya, tired of seeing their friends scared, gives a nod with a promise firmer than any bracelet they could weave of colored thread and metal beads.

G’raha lets them go through the mirror in the Ocular back to the Syrcus Trench, where Ochir is already waiting, his purple feathers gleaming in the gentle blue glow of the Tower. Zaya leaps onto his back, hand on the letter in their sash as they take off into iridescent skies, the moonlight brighter than every before as Ochir redirects himself to Limsa Lominsa without any leading from them.

It takes a bit longer, with how Ochir decides to pass through a large storm to soak up the rain and lightning in his feathers even though Zaya was completely unprepared, but they make it to the Dutiful Sisters of Edelweiss intact and letter dry, no matter how soaked their tabard is. Jacke opens the door instead of their gatekeeper, seemingly because the loud cry of Ochir as he stumbled into the ocean after tipping over the barrel of fish he stood on could have woken all of Ul’dah from here.

“Are ye needin’ somethin’? Tis later than ye think, lass.” Jacke suppresses a yawn, but steps through the doorframe to greet them. A small bottle of rum is in his hands, although it appears to be unopened.

In lieu of saying anything, they pull out the letter from their sash, showing green wax and the shimmering black ink that Tehra’ir bought before he was Called to him, and Jacke’s eyes widen. If there were any less moonlight, Zaya might have missed the corners of Jacke’s eyes crinkling and the clearness of his pupils; any less moonlight and this letter could have meant nothing.

“Was waiting’ fer this. Thank ye, Zaya.” Jacke beckons them inside the Rogue’s Guild as they smile, accepting the letter with grateful hands. Inside awaits a rather drunk Perimu and an excited V’kebbe as Jacke sits down and rips open the envelope of the letter with a vigor Zaya wouldn’t have guessed he still had, with how tired he looked when he opened the door.

V’kebbe and Perimu keep them occupied as Jacke savors every word that Tehra’ir wrote him with tales of Admiral Merlwyb and her growing attachment to the Rogue’s Guild in secret, and of tales of Nanamo visiting the seas of Vylbrand with Kan-E-Senna and Raubahn at her side. Some sort of summer vacation for the leaders as the commanders of the Grand Companies exercise their leadership skills when alone—for the risk of losing them is too great now, and they must plan how to survive without them.

Jacke suddenly butts into their conversation when he reaches a certain part of the letter. “I… yer sayin’ Tehra’ir’s been hidin’ that the whole time?”

Zaya prepares themselves to have a long,  _ long _ lecture on transitioning in defense of Tehra’ir, but Jacke only looks relieved, for some odd reason or another.

“Ah—it’s not that—I kinda whiddled he’d a secret, an’, well… I was meanin’ t’ say it’s bene that he feels comfortable sharin’ that with us, and…” Jacke, for someone so normally composed and smooth, has the grace of a goose in a library right now.

“What he meant t’ say was,” V’kebbe slides to his side as she skims the line before continuing. “Tehra’ir has nothin’ t’ be worryin’ himself over. He’s still one o’ us, no matter if he were a lass or a lad ‘fore he knew us. Anyroad, Jacke love him either which way, so—”

Jacke quite literally slams his elbow into V’kebbe’s side to keep her from spilling more secrets that she probably shouldn’t know, but Zaya holds their hands over their eyes and pretends like it never happened. It wouldn’t do for embarrassment to be the final obstacle between Tehra’ir and Jacke  _ finally _ getting together.

Perimu is passed out across from Zaya, but they have a feeling he would agree too if he were awake to hear the story, no matter how his rivalry with Tehra’ir may make it seem like he dislikes his fellow rogue to outsiders.

Jacke and V’kebbe pen a letter in less than two bells for them to take back to Tehra’ir, who Zaya finds fiddling his thumbs at the counter of the Wandering Stairs when they return to the First. His breakfast has gone untouched, and by the looks of it, Cyella is more worried than she thinks she is, with how she hovers near him until Zaya walks up. A shared look, a nod, and Cyella is off, serving some table of visitors from Eulmore.

Zaya taps his shoulder, and Tehra’ir shoots up in surprise, ears hitched high in his bandana.

“What’d they have t’ say?” The anticipation in his voice is quivering, and if Zaya had any sort of bad news to bring back, they think he might’ve broken in front of their eyes.

_ “Here. All three of them, although Perimu was asleep for most of the writing.” _ Zaya pulls a letter, with sea foam green wax and gold ink, from their sash, and Tehra’ir takes it delicately, as if it were some treasure.  _ “Do not be so worried; it is good. I was there for their reaction.” _

As Tehra’ir reads the letter slowly with nervous tail flicks, Zaya takes it upon themselves to eat part of his cold breakfast—is it lunchtime by now, they wonder—and when he finishes, he is undeniably happy despite the tears building in his eyes.

“Looks t’ be I’ve got a boyfriend ‘fore you, Zaya,” Tehra’ir smirks with a watery voice, eyes shining as the sun peeks out from behind the clouds in the sky to smile down warmth for them. “Ye wanna step up yer game?”

He gets a playful punch to the arm at that, but they both know that the answer is ‘of course’.

**IV.**

“I’ve never been able to go back home since Garlemald took me and my sisters,” Valdis muses as she falls back into the glowing blue flowers surrounding Mjrl’s Regret. “The trees here are similar to the ones there, and Fanow is much like my hometown…”

Zaya listens carefully as Valdis continues to ramble on about the home she lost at a mere five summers, weaving the glowing blue flowers into a flower crown that they slip over Valdis’ ears without her noticing after a good bell and a half. Y’shtola comes to sit with them from Slitherbough at some point, Runar and Duscha following along with a backpack of food made specially by Syhrwyda.

As Valdis recounts the time when her sisters and she found a secret cavern amongst the roots of the Wood, Y’shtola’s hand covers Zaya’s in a promise that says ‘we will bring her home someday’. Duscha sees it, and places a gentle paw over their hands, too, Eos fluttering down to press a small, glowing hand on top of his.

_ Someday _ , Eos whispers in aether and a long lost language,  _ someday she will find home, and before it is gone. _

They listen to Valdis reminisce until the sunlight between the highest tree branches fades to warm moonlight and flickering stars beckoning them home, and only then do they surround their wayward daughter of the Woods in a show of soft solidarity.

**V.**

After the mess of a game Feo Ul had played on them, what with dodging between trees and bounding mushrooms, Zaya finds themselves lying on the flowery hills of Lyhe Mheg with Thancred, both staring up at the Ul’dahn night skies that Feo Ul has wrought. Ryne and Shtola are off in the distance having the time of their lives on the candy playground while Urianger struggles to keep up with An Lad as she swoops about the gingerbread house.

_ “Have you ever seen Shtola and Urianger like this before?” _ They rapidly sign before Thancred can fall asleep, Tyr Beq twining flowers into his hair. 

“Never. It’s rather surreal, to see them play like children as we sleep.” Thancred groans a little as he shifts his arms, back cracking. “Makes me feel much older than them.”

_ “Old man, back pains at… what, a mental forty-two years old?” _

“Hey! I’m still in my thirties back home!”

_ “Right, right. Did Duscha ever figure out your real age?” _

“Something closer to thirty-four, if he was looking correctly at his fae friend.”

Zaya hums in response, too lazy to think of another topic to bring up as they watch the blinking stars that make up the Spire. Small flowers run through their fingers as the (possibly imaginary) wind picks back up, causing flowers to gently sway above them like dancing stars.

“We deserve a soft epilogue, do we not?” Thancred murmurs into the sweeping wind, watching the stars as Zaya turns their stare to him. What sparked this? “We’ve suffered enough for good people merely attempting to do their greatest for the world.”

The fireflies surround him as the silence ticks on, and Zaya is left with nothing but mild surprise. He turns back to them with an expression that screams ‘was that good?’ and only then does Zaya snort, bringing their hands up to their mouth to let him see.

_ “Made that one up, did you?” _

“Truthfully, one of Ryne’s books from the Exarch created that line. I simply took it for our own uses.”

_ “So, what I hear is that Raha is secretly a hoarder of fanciful, soft romance books. Fair. Never took Ryne for an avid reader,” _ A slow smirk climbs onto Zaya’s face as Thancred gets closer and closer to laughing, following along as Zaya turns the topic to Raha’s tendencies for fairy tales.  _ “But with such an arse guardian for two years, I am not surprised. An escape into a different realm is a very good distraction.” _

He winces harshly when they finish signing, laugh turning into a shaky groan. “I suppose even fairy tale heroes have to work for their perfect endings, hm? I… I am working on it.”

_ “And I believe you. You have always had the greatest ability to change out of us all, save for Tehra’ir, perhaps.” _

“Says the one who helped Hanami toss me into the Kholusian ocean a mere three days ago for my recurrent treatment of Ryne over our journey. I thought we’d already done enough ragging on myself to understand I’ve learned.”

_ “We certainly have, but it is rather funny to see you flailing as you fall.” _

Thancred sits up, a small crown of flower petals lining his moondusted hair as Tyr Beq launches upwards with a laughing fit. As he turns to them, mischief fills the air more than malevolence, petals and twinkling stars filling the air between them and it’s damn near  _ perfect. _

“Am I hearing this from Zaya,” he starts with an incredulous tone that slowly fills with chuckles inbetween the gaps. “The one who fell into Longmirror Lake today without anyone nearby to push them in? Or perhaps Zaya, the one who mistook a candy cane in Lyhe Mheg for Alisaie whilst playing tag? Oh, or that time when you tripped Alphinaud—”

Zaya springs up and tackles him back into the flowers, grin wild and wide as they tumble through gladiolus and forget-me-nots to the bottom of the hill, thankfully not into the waterfall flowing from above. Thancred, for all his teasing and good-natured quips, holds them tight the whole time as if he were afraid they’d burst into flower petals and never return to him, even though he laughs brightly the whole fall.

Sunflowers surround them as they slow to a stop, creating a sort of canopy that covers them from eavesdropping pixies—something about the smell deters them, or so Feo Ul had said; they’d only grown some in Lyhe Mheg for a child who lost their garden to the Flood of Light in Lakeland, so that their dreams may be filled with sunny bright memories. 

The smell, however, does nothing against Feo Ul dropping a rather large jar down onto Thancred’s back as he pins Zaya to the ground. It slams against his armor with a surprising thunk, and a groan from Thancred—his armor is back at the top of the hills, after all that, so it probably landed on his spine. How unfortunate.

“What in Thal’s name—” Thancred lifts his eyes away from Zaya’s grin to see the jar, lying by their horn. “Where did they find this, I wonder?”

He sits down on Zaya’s legs to pick up the jar and twist it open to retrieve the single paper star inside, small script hidden away in folds. The paper; a brilliant blue against the white of Thancred’s coat and the yellow of the sunflower petals waving behind him, and Zaya absolutely  _ panicks _ . That star—that  _ little thought  _ is meant for none other than them, most definitely not Thancred, of all people, and he’s already prying the strip open to read— 

Zaya rapidly slaps a hand over Thancred’s before he can even sound out the first word scrawled messily onto the little blue paper, face red as Dalamud was and eyes looking  _ anywhere _ but at his.

“Is there something here I should not be reading?” His voice is sincere like only precious few times before, and Zaya gulps down a lump in their throat, shaking their head. “Is this thought too embarassing, then?”

A shrug, this time. “Is it… about me?”

Zaya can give no response other than one that betrays the thought, and Thancred, instead of lifting Zaya’s hand off his, curls his hand into a fist, crumpling the paper in it. When they dare to look back at his face, it’s a soft smile they meet rather than a disappointed grimace they expected.

“You can choose to tell me in your own time, Zaya. No pressure of thought stars or, well.” Thancred waves about at their current situation. “Whatever dream your dear branch has weaved for us. I will wait as you have for me, as long as you’ll have me, changing or not.”

And his words spur Zaya on to press a small, chaste kiss to his lips under Feo Ul’s gifted moonlight, hoping that the thought star can be conveyed in such a small action that means the world.

Thancred leans back after a moment or two of surprise, pulling Zaya to his chest where his heart is beating faster than their fingers drumming small, nervous rhythms into his back. His coat is surprisingly soft, for something made to protect him in battle alongside his armor; perhaps the dwarven cotton of Kholusia, or the brightlinen of Lakeland…

“You caught me by surprise, bluebird,” Thancred’s voice rumbles through his chest and through their horns with a reverent tone, and the way ‘bluebird’ fits so perfectly in his voice just like Zaya’s name does melts something scared close to their heart. “I was rather expecting that to be something along the lines of ‘I would like to chuck Thancred into a volcano for how he treated Ryne’, going by our conversation only moments ago.”

Zaya spares a nervous laugh when Thancred pauses, despite knowing that he would not dare throw Zaya’s feelings into the flame like that. Is this what that fear of rejection Tehra’ir had thought of was like? Why he was so shaky in both handing Zaya his letter to Jacke and receiving one back?

“Nonetheless,” Thancred starts again with a firm voice like warm sand and ocean water, washing over Zaya’s soul and stopping their potentially hazardous train of thought. “If you’re certain it’s me you want by your side, then I’m yours. I have been since… well, since Operation Archon’s success.”

And before he can continue with a shaky breath, Zaya pulls at his collar to kiss him on the nose, tying their final reservation with a bow and gifting it to him before their nerves can catch up. His hands pull them closer in a promise to never, never, never let go, warmth spreading through to the tip of their tail as his forehead leans against theirs.

“...Alright, at least warn me next time.” Thancred huffs against their horn, turning his head to the side and red as the poppy and geranium petals lining his hair, and Zaya finally laughs freely with all the warmth of a tropical rainstorm as the dream continues on.

**VI.**

Plates and plates of sweets line the buffet tables on this side, and Syhrwyda still looks full of energy as she continues to cook, happier than before in her new spot among the Second Serving as the celebration starts. Zaya leans over the counter to wave to her, and she returns it with a smile like the sunrise over Ala Mhigo, returning warmth to the chilled lands with honey gold warmth.

“This is amazin’, Zaya!” Syhrwyda calls as she walks over to the cabinet, grabbing some spices that they recognize as Syhrwyda’s favorites. Is she cooking dinner for herself? “It’s been awhile since I’ve been in the cookin’ business, what with Doma and Ala Mhigo and Garlemald, but it’s good t’ be back!”

Zaya huffs a breathy laugh as they sit down at the counter, sliding over a bottle of La Noscean orange juice straight from Syhrwyda’s parents, and when she turns around with two plates filled to the brim with food, she pauses.

“Is this…?” Syhrwyda says with a tinge of hope in her voice, examining the tree-shaped bottle with the eyes of an excited child in a candy store. When Zaya nods, she quickly sets down the plates—one in front of Zaya, of course—and gingerly picks up the bottle to read the label and then the little note attached to the handle. Honey gold eyes race over her mother’s penmanship as Zaya grabs a fork and shovels a large mouthful of the adobo fried rice before putting the utensil back down to sign.

_ “They met Y’mihtra, and got into contact with me through her. They wanted to send more, but the last harvest was a little problematic, so this is all they could send.” _ Zaya points at the glimmering orange juice, bottle catching the last rays of sunlight as the sun sets behind Zaya in little, crystallized rainbows.

Syhrwyda sets the bottle down to lean over and kiss Zaya’s forehead quickly before turning around while saying, “Thank you dearly, Zaya! For you, buuz on the house!”

Zaya gives a small cheer as Syhrwyda returns to spinning about the kitchen with extra excitement in her step, the magic of frying vegetables and flour clouds a show in its own right.

**VII.**

In the Cabinet of Curiousities is where Zaya next finds Duscha, elusive as ever and hiding away in a book cubby with a veritable shelf of tomes and novels laid out before him. Urianger sits with him in silence, although he appears to be falling asleep due to a lack of tea, and Alisaie, who is toting along the tray of snacks, kicks him in the shin before jabbing her elbow to a pile of books that she presumably wants Zaya to move so she can set down the tray.

Duscha hardly looks up to greet them when he mumbles, “Thank you, Zaya. Alisaie.”

Alisaie peers over the cover of the book to see the contents, eyes scrunching in concentration as she attempts to read the old language upside down, eventually resigning herself to leaning against Duscha’s shoulder while taking her own chair from the table.

“Thine refreshments art appreciated,” Urianger sighs after he takes a sip of the hot tea. “Albeit this tea twould not be mine first choice.”

Alisaie sends a glare over the brim of Duscha’s book, although it doesn’t last long as Duscha flips the page to a new array of words for them to take in and appreciate. On the spine reads a title that’s almost familiar, but Zaya can’t quite make it out until Urianger sees where they’re looking.

“Ah, ‘The Tales of the Final Hour’; a selection of tales curated by…” Urianger looks closer at the spine, blinking rapidly as if he were still half asleep. “Tataru.”

Zaya peers ever closer, and—yes, it  _ is _ Tataru’s name, but…

_ “The Exarch’s collection from before.” _

Urianger nods, leaning back in his cushioned chair as he pulls out another with his leg, motioning for Zaya to sit as he cracks open the hardcover book. Alisaie takes a sandwich from the tray and begins to eat as Duscha repositions himself to share the book better, and Zaya resigns themselves to an afternoon spent basking in the stories left behind in another time.

**VIII.**

G’raha and Lunya have their happy ending together, fated as the stars are to combust and collide, but A’dewah seems… unbothered by this revelation, even as Syhrwyda gives him what should be bad news.

“I love him, that much is… true.” A’dewah starts as he swirls his honeyed tea about in the small, crystal cup. “But he chose to love another star than the sun, and I cannot dare attempt to make him happiest when my time is ever more limited than Lunya’s… so watching from afar as he remains happy is all I wish to do.”

Syhrwyda looks incredulous, but nods nonetheless before turning back to her tray of tarts. Tehra’ir and Lumelle pick quietly at their food, a little embarrassed they pressed A’dewah to reveal such a thing. They had all known his time was much shorter than theirs, with his continual need to pull harder on the Lifestream to heal Zaya, but. Hiding the fact away makes the revelation much less real than before.

“What are you all looking depressed about?” A’dewah lifts his head up, aetheryte earring flicking and catching the final rays of today’s sunset. “I chose my path, and I wish to leave him happy, not burdened by the knowledge that another loves him that he cannot return.”

He sips his tea with an eyebrow raised, and with the acknowledgement that he and Raha would both be happier apart, the mood lifts a bit.

_ Perhaps not every one of us is a hero, _ Zaya muses as they strum their harp for Elwin’s ears so he may focus among the Wandering Stairs’ atmosphere.  _ Or perhaps not every hero gets their fairy tale ending... _

**IX.**

Lumelle stops Zaya when they come back to the Crystarium’s aetheryte plaza with a crate full of potentially cursed water from Il Mheg’s rivers and rock salt straight from the depths of the Tempest, barely catching them before they complete the teleport to Ishgard’s Foundation.

“Is Francel doing well?” Lumelle asks first before asking about the crates of mined goods, scarred hands tracing patterns into the wood grain of the crate. Zaya merely nods, wiping the sweat from their face with their handkerchief. “And… the Restoration?”

Zaya nods again, and this time Lumelle sighs, leaning over the crate as Zaya rests their hands on their hips; what could be the matter now? Ishgard was recovering, albeit without her, and she had even contributed with her collection of dried herbs!

She presumably feels Zaya’s curious eyes looking at her slumped over form, as she mumbles, “Homesick, and, well…”

Lumelle pulls out a small pocketwatch that expands into three different faces; some contraption that vaguely reminds Zaya to go visit Cid and perhaps Nero soon, with its countless features. The rightmost face, however, shows a calendar, and on it is the date of the Source; the day that the raid on the Vault to save Aymeric from his father and the Knights Templar…

Zaya sighs, sitting down on the crates themselves. The pain still rings true, even to this day, three years later. Or four, depending on who you are and your circumstances.

“If you are going to Ishgard,” Lumelle starts again, after a few moments spent in silence save for the birds chirping in the trees around the base of the Crystal Tower. “Could you take this to his grave? I don’t have much use for it, and if it made up for me not being there for the anniversary...”

Lumelle holds her hand palm upwards, a coin depicting the official emblem of Ishgard in her palm, made in pale gold and still shimmering. It’s similar to the coins that Haurchefant had given all of them when they had first visited Camp Dragonhead as keepsakes of their…  _ interesting _ meeting, what with saving Francel from being named a heretic and the  _ Enterprise _ .

_ “Of course. I will find a box so it is not collected by another.” _ Zaya takes the coin gingerly from Lumelle’s open hand, fingers brushing over scars lining her hands. Lumelle lifts her head and smiles, tired eyes regaining a glimmer of hope.

“Thank you.”

Zaya merely smiles, shooing Lumelle off of the crate of water bottles as they approach the aetheryte. Hand still touching the box, the complete the spell and find themselves in Ishgard, smiling fondly at the coin as they remember the brightest of smiles gifted to them in an age.

_ To a great knight _ , they think, placing the coin safely in their pocket.  _ To his life and the choices he made _ .

**X.**

Zaya doesn’t go actively seeking Elwin like they do the others, mostly because he comes to find  _ them _ first. Parchment and ink in hand, and Ryne following him around like a little puppy—actually, she’s holding a puppy, and from where, Zaya does not ask. Ryne might think it disapproval and not let Zaya pet the dog before she lets it go.

“We were havin’ trouble mapping the stars above Lyhe Ghiah, and were wonderin’ if you could get us access to the upper floors of the palace?” Elwin asks boldly, no longer hesitating in asking for help. “Feo Ul won’t show up fer us, so Ryne thought to ask you.”

The little machinist holds close an inkwell and an ornate quill as Zaya pries the star map out. Almost all of the constellations visible are labeled—in Fae, of course; Urianger must have helped them out. Shimmering ink where the stars are dotted, and simple navy blue for the lines connecting them into little shapes. Ryne must have done the doodles around the stars to show what they are in truth, with how the lines flow and swirl.

_ “Of course. Feo Ul has been bored of late, so visitors might cheer them up.” _ Zaya begins to walk to the aetheryte plaza as the two follow along, the small black puppy racing to stay by Ryne’s side as they speed up. A small little parade of star explorers march their way to Lyhe Ghiah to knock on the King’s doors, and are welcomed cheerfully with fluttering orange wings.

It’s rather adorable, how Elwin falls asleep against Ryne later as they count the stars twice over, and Zaya takes a picture to show Thancred when they march back home the next day.

**XI.**

Zaya finds themselves longing to go back down to Amaurot, for whatever odd reason, so a trip to the aetheryte plaza alone in the middle of the night finds them amongst sea glow buildings and gigantic steps of stairs they can barely climb on their own. Thank goodness for monk kicks and En Avant; combining them makes for a great climbing asset.

Climbing over wall-like stairs and pushing open doors occupies much of their night, and when Zaya finally makes it somewhere that smells like levin the day is slowly breaking in the imaginary skies of Amaurot.

It’s the only building here with differently colored windows; honey gold with rainbow ornamentation within them, making pictures of small buildings and sunlight in the windows. Faintly, Zaya smells baked goods; tarts and breads fresh out of the oven, to be exact. They’re not quite sure what pulls them in so strongly, but… something happened here. Something… important.

Only when Thancred comes calling over their temporary linkpearl for them to come back to the Crystarium does Zaya leave that little bakery with a small mask they’d found lying about.

**XII.**

Before themselves, Zaya lays out a few precious things from the past moon or so; a storybook of their own tales from the future, a stick of mint green wax. Glowing blue flower crowns from Rak’tika and red-orange ones from Lyhe Mheg, stacked together. An empty, tree-shaped bottle and a book written by a dying, alternate version of Tataru. An Ishgardian collector’s coin given freely as a memoir, and a star map of Il Mheg.

_ Is this enough, _ they wonder idlly, tapping slow rhythms into the cover of ‘And The World Keeps Spinning’ as they think of all the things and all the times they shared with Ardbert in the past six moons, before he’d gone and went on with his heroic sacrifice. 

On their wrist, the soulstone holding magenta and grape purple flames lights, and Zaya takes that off, too, as if it would bring back a shard of Ardbert to share in the happiness they now have after it all. Probably just Fray, or Myste, coming up to share their thoughts on the man who so badly wanted to be the hero that Zaya was, and that they all had known there was no other way for this to end.

“Zaya, are you in here?” Thancred rounds the corner, peering past the doors left ajar to meet Zaya’s eyes. Zaya simply waves him in, and he closes the doors behind him before taking a seat at the table besides them.

“Well, what’s all this then? Cleaning your bag of wonders?” Thancred jokes, tapping the soulstone on the table. “Or perhaps another communion with your other self?”

Zaya bats at Thancred’s wandering hands as he tries to pick up the coin, giving him a stern look to say ‘back off’. Thankfully, he does, only looking to them with a curious glance as he places his hand over theirs on the stool. A soft gesture to calm them, surely, but it only flusters Zaya more when he interlocks his fingers with theirs cautiously.

“Forgive my assumptions,” He starts again when Zaya has more or less returned to normal from beet red, rubbing his thumb over the scales climbing up the back of Zaya’s hands in lightning-like scars. “But this seems much like the items one would find on a… what do adventurers call it?”

Zaya mourns the loss of his fingers in theirs when they take back their hand to sign,  _ “Fetch quests? I personally do not know if it is the right term, but I have heard it often enough with angered tones in the Quicksand.” _

Thancred snaps his fingers and nods, which presumably means that was the term he’d been looking for. Zaya shakes their head when he looks back up with a questioning gaze, however, and brings their hands back up from their lap to say,  _ “A memorial for the hero that saved me, in the end. Remember the Axe of Light?” _

He nods again, bringing a hand to his chin before removing an auracite shard from his pocket and placing it on the table next to Zaya’s soulstone. Zaya watches him carefully as he gives a small, silent prayer to this man he’d never truly known to be more than an enemy—hells, Thancred didn’t even know who Zaya was talking about!

“Merely giving thanks to the person out there who saved my—well, is it wrong to call you mine?” Thancred interrupts himself to ask permission, to which Zaya shakes their head to give him that right. “My bluebird, then, when we could do naught but watch.”

As he muses over the numerous ways he could use the endearment to embarrass Zaya, they sling an arm over his shoulder and bring him close, smiling into his shoulder as Thancred returns the sentiment. The scraping of his chair on the floor is an ugly noise, but the annoyance it brings to Zaya’s horns is quickly drowned out in the warmth he surrounds Zaya in.

**XIII.**

The Crystarium is alive with the faces of excited visitors and relieved citizens as the fireworks light up the night sky, multicolored and grander than ever imagined, and Zaya dances around people standing in awe among the Wandering Stairs to make it to the table where Reese has been waving her arms for the past ten minutes.

“Zaya!” Lunya, who is cautiously balanced on Reese’s shoulders, waves with her, her white hair shimmering like stars under the flashing lights of the fireworks above. “We’d thought you’d gotten lost!”

Sati laughs from her seat, still drinking her… is that apple juice? Well, whatever it is, she drinks greedily while watching them with excited, curious eyes. Her tail curls around Hanami’s own as she scoots just a little closer on the bench of their table, eliciting a sigh and an eye roll from the dark knight, but Zaya catches a small smile in the corners of her eyes as she drinks with Sati.

“No Tehra’ir tonight?” Lunya chirps as Reese sets her down in her own chair, still standing to be able to see over the table; these seats really were not made for Lalafellian folk. Zaya shakes their head before pointing vaguely to where the Crystarium’s Post Moogle (and Feo Ul’s Delivery Service, for tonight only!) makes his station, and all four of their fellow Warriors sigh-laugh. With the separation between worlds, it only makes sense that Tehra’ir’s rather interested in keeping up with correspondence rather than have what was two days on this side pass only for it to be a year on Jacke’s.

“Never have I seen such a lovesick fool, really.” Hanami cuts the silence—well, the silence disregarding the crowd and the fireworks overhead—with a sort-of insult. “Except for you, Zaya. The two of you make an interesting, oblivious pair of friends.”

_ “You do not want to start this conversation, Hanami, not when Lun—” _

“Oho? What is this I’m hearing about being lovesick fools?” Lunya props her elbows on the table, and Reese chuckles as she shoves a rather large piece of steak into her mouth. “I heard from the grapevine you finally told Thancred, hm?”

Zaya flushes a deep rose red as Lunya continues to probe and press into facts that rightfully Zaya doesn’t have to approve or deny, but as Lunya goes on and on while Hanami and Sati drink patiently, waiting for either side to give in. Reese just keeps eating despite the fact she could—and  _ should _ —help stop Lunya before Zaya combusts into actual flame rather than just a Riddle of Fire…

“And I heard quite literally from Tyr Beq that they saw you two tumble into the sunflower patch! How adorable,” Lunya finishes harassing Zaya as both Raha and Shtola walk over, holding cups of mulled wine close as the night begins to bring in cool air, swirling about the heat of the party.

Just as Raha sits down and Shtola points out where Thancred’s being sort of brooding by himself to Zaya, the live band down in Musica Universalis begins playing what could only be described as swing music, and Sati shoots out of her seat to grab  _ Reese’s _ hand, of all people, dragging her to the stairs immediately.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it!” Sati chirps, practically skipping her way to the steps as she talks with a panicking Reese. “I’ll guide you through it! S’not that different from the dancing around you do in battle, anyhow—”

“But it is?” Reese cries, stumbling over her feet as she tries so hard not to collapse on Sati’s smaller frame. “I can’t—I’ll simply embarrass myself down there, please don’t—Sati  _ stop _ ?!”

And as Reese practically tumbles down the steps of the Wandering Stairs, Lunya has already made her wa to the other side of the table to pull both Zaya and Hanami by the edges of their tabards to follow them. Surprisingly, Hanami barely resists despite Zaya vaguely remembering that she hated dancing in public—or at all, for that matter.

“Swing dance is a dance I enjoy, if you were wondering.” Hanami answers the question hanging around their head, despite the fact that Zaya had not signed a single word yet. “Although I would rather not do it in the Crystarium public, I suppose there is only one way to learn… dare I ask your experience in this type of dancing?”

Trying to talk while being dragged is hard, especially since Lunya keeps on tugging insistently, so Zaya merely shrugs and hopes for the best.

(It seems that Zaya is extremely good with swing dance due to their background in monk training. Hanami is sort-of impressed, by the look of her eyes. Even though she is being thrown for a loop as they dance, as long as no one can point them out as foolish, it matters little.)

**XIV.**

Zaya wakes up, yet again, to the smell of food sizzling as Syhrwyda hums from the kitchen, to the smell of mint tea boiling while Y’shtola flips through a book. The weight of arms and tails, the twins and Ryne. Tightening their fingers only to find Thancred’s fingers entwined and holding tight to their hand as he dreams, the warmth of his chest blanketing their side.

It’s overwhelming to wake up to sometimes, with the massive amount of information they have to sort through before even opening their eyes.

But in that same vein, it’s more comforting than hot chocolate in a snowstorm, than the busy markets of Ul’dah, than the sound of their name on the lips of their friends. Like a fetch quest with thirty stops on the way and always too much to do as a starting member of a sprouting organization.

_ Every hero deserves a soft epilogue. _

This is it. Their soft epilogue, with Tehra’ir and Thancred by their side, with Syhrwyda and Valdis leading them onwards, with Lumelle, Elwin, Ryne, and the twins following in their footsteps. Those who stand by them, and those who stand against them; Lunya, Hanami, Satina, Reese somewhere in that mix as the threat of what came before them darkens the skies.

Waking up has never felt so soft.

**Author's Note:**

> on tumblr:  
> @windupnamazu's lunya lanya!  
> @to-the-voiceless's hanami hagane!  
> @sati-ffxiv's a'satina lhea!  
> @winduphaurchefant's reese peepo! (?)
> 
> tahnk you mom discord for inspiring me... scene thirteen goes out to yall...


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